Rising early in the morning, mine host’s solitary guest had ventured
out on foot for a walk through the village. Having passed the last of
the straggling cottages, he now stood beneath the frowning portal of
the ruined monastery. It was Christmas morning, and all was silent
here, silent as the voices of those who built the pile which they
vainly thought would have ‘canopied their bones till Doomsday.’ Of the
stately abbey church which had once lifted its head so proudly over
the fen, and beneath whose shadow slept the ill-fated baronet, but one
ruined wing remained, and in this the snowdrift had accumulated to the
depth of several feet. Straight from the north-east, soaring through
the dark mist that gathered thickly out to the seaward, a screaming
gull flapped on its way—a certain harbinger of more rough weather to
come. As it passed near, the bird’s discordant cry roused Ainslie from
the moralising train of reflections in which he had been indulging, and
turning back, he slowly retraced his steps to the _Saxonford Arms_.
Breakfast having been partaken of in the quaint old room up-stairs,
mine host saw no more of his visitor for the rest of the morning. A few
customers dropped in from the hamlet, and under the combined influence
of strong ale and lusty singing, the company—old Hobb included—got
quite merry. Dinner-time came at last, and Christmas cheer was
conveyed to the solitary guest above.
More of the villagers put in their appearance during the afternoon, and
the babel of tongues in the _Saxonford_ bar waxed somewhat deafening.
It is quiet enough up-stairs. As the evening draws on, the merry-makers
gather closely round the fire, and one of them—an uncouth figure with
restless eyes—relates a weird Jack-o’-lantern tale. Afterwards come
more songs, finishing with a right rousing chorus, and then the company
leave in a body, to return again later on for still more uproarious
merriment. Old Dipping, who is now left alone, steals to the foot of
the stairs and listens, inwardly hoping that his visitor has not been
disturbed by the confusion and noise which for the past two hours
have gone on beneath him. He does not wait there long. The sound of a
door opening is heard, and then an excited voice shouts from above:
‘Landlord!’
‘He must be in a temper,’ thinks old Hobb, as he slowly toils up the
staircase and enters his visitor’s dining apartment.
The lieutenant’s eye is wild and his manner strange. He motions to
Dipping to shut the door.
‘I’m sorry, sir’—— begins the landlord apologetically.
‘Sorry! What for?’ interrupts Reginald. ‘Look at that! Do you mean to
tell me you are sorry, now?’
On the table was the black box!
Old Dipping could only stand and gape. ‘Where did you find it, sir?’ he
at length falters out.
‘Find it!’ answers his excited guest ‘Why, under that loose board by
the window! I’ve been searching here all day long with scarcely a hope
of turning anything up. What a lottery life is!—Get me a knife, a
hammer, anything that will wrench the lid off. Quick, man, quick!’
Old Dipping disappeared and shortly returned with a chisel, that
being the only article he could find which was in any way likely to
suit his visitor’s requirements. Seizing upon it, Ainslie endeavoured
to force the lid off the mysterious box. His efforts are for some
minutes paralysed by his own precipitate violence, and old Hobb groans
impatiently. At length the fastenings can resist no longer; hinges and
locks give way, and the lid flies off, disclosing to view a quantity
of time-coloured papers and parchments. Beneath these, at the bottom
of the box, is a coarse canvas bag, which on being opened is found to
contain about a score of guineas in gold. These the lieutenant tosses
aside, much to the surprise of Hobb Dipping, who looks upon ready-money
as being far more valuable than any papers could possibly be. Various
documents are one by one read and laid aside. Many of them appear to be
letters of correspondence from persons of rank, and the greater portion
are expressed in language which is enigmatical to Ainslie, but which
he rightly conjectures as relating to the Jacobite plots in which his
scheming uncle had been engaged. Not the slightest hint can be twisted
out of any one that at all refers to the subject upon which our hero
had hoped to be enlightened. After all, the discovery appears to be
very much like a failure.
‘There—there’s somethin’ in that bag you’ve overlooked, sir,’ nervously
remarks the landlord, who has been watching his visitor’s actions with
a trembling kind of interest.
‘Ay, so there is.’ And a precious something it turns out to be. At the
bottom of the bag which Reginald had so carelessly tossed aside is an
old parchment cipher alphabet.
‘Landlord,’ says Ainslie, whose fleeting hopes have once more risen to
a fever-heat, ‘this may or may not be—I know not which—the very clue I
hoped to find here. Be it so, or be it not, at anyrate this money shall
go to you,’ and he thrust it across the table towards the wondering
innkeeper.—‘No thanks,’ he added, seeing that old Dipping was about to
speak. ‘Leave me alone now. I must be quiet.’
The landlord carefully gathers up the gold and goes out, amazed at such
unlooked-for generosity.
‘Now for it!’
At the top of the scrap of paper which Reginald had obtained when
he first entered the house was a bold, curious kind of monogram;
underneath this were two words, which, on being interpreted by means
of the cipher alphabet, read as NUMBER TWO. Thus far all was plain
sailing; but as our agitated hero proceeded with his task, his heart
sank within him, for the meaning of the translation seemed well-nigh
as obscure as the document was itself. When the whole of the intricate
writing which covered the paper had been followed up letter by letter,
it ran in ordinary language in this style:
Read the
Second word of the first line.
Third word of the second line.
Fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth words of the third line.
Seventh and eighth words of the fourth line.
First word of the fifth line.
First, fourth, and seventh words of the sixth line.
Fifth word of the seventh line.
Fourth and fifth words of the eighth line.
First and sixth words of the ninth line.
Second and third words of the tenth line.
Tenth word of the eleventh line.
First, second, and seventh words of the twelfth line.
Fourth, sixth, and seventh words of the thirteenth line.
Third word of the fourteenth line.
Second, sixth, and seventh words of the fifteenth line.
Sixth and seventh words of the sixteenth line.
Sixth, seventh, and eighth words of the seventeenth line.
Seventh word of the eighteenth line.
Second and sixth words of the nineteenth line.
First, second, and sixth words of the twentieth line.
Fifth word of the twenty-first line.
Eighth, ninth, tenth, and eleventh words of the twenty-second line.
Sixth and seventh words of the twenty-third line.
Second word of the twenty-fifth line.
CARNABY VINCENT.
These incomprehensible lines would have the effect of reducing the
feelings of most persons to a depth of sickening disappointment.
But Reginald was not to be beaten so easily. A moment’s reflection
convinced him that this singular table could only be the key to some
letter or paper which had contained an important secret. Important it
must have been, else why should such scrupulous care have been taken to
effect its concealment?
What sudden half-formed thought is that which shoots across Ainslie’s
mind as he gazes on the monogram at the top of the paper? Quickly
unfastening the breast of his coat, the young officer takes therefrom
a strongly bound pocket-book, and opening it in the same hasty manner,
draws forth from among a miscellaneous collection of papers the
identical letter which Sir Carnaby had intrusted on the night of his
death to his servant Derrick’s charge.
By this letter hangs a tale. When Derrick, while still lingering
in the neighbourhood of the _Saxonford Arms_, was informed of Sir
Carnaby’s death by a labourer who had heard the facts from the mouth
of old Dipping himself, he resolved that, since he could no longer
help his master, he would at least execute his last commands. In this,
however, he was providentially disappointed. On arriving at the Grange,
after a long and wearisome ride, he received the startling news that
Captain Hollis—to whom he should have delivered the note—had been that
morning arrested on a charge of high-treason. Completely foiled in his
well-meant endeavours, Derrick now thought only of his own safety.
Sir Henry Ainslie’s country-seat on the borders of Suffolk, he chose
to be his next destination; and thither the attendant went, intending
to acquaint his unfortunate master’s relatives of the catastrophe
which had occurred. The journey was not accomplished without grievous
difficulty, due in a great measure to his wounded arm. A low lingering
fever followed immediately upon his arrival at the Hall; and when
Derrick at length recovered sufficiently to have some sense of his
situation, Sir Henry Ainslie was lying under the sod, having died
while in the act of imparting to his wife a secret of which he was the
sole remaining possessor. The attendant’s sad tale was briefly told;
but neither that nor the singular letter which he delivered, threw
a spark of additional information upon the subject. Notwithstanding
this, the peculiar character of Sir Carnaby’s epistle warranted its
being preserved; while, as Reginald grew towards manhood, and laid
Derrick’s tale more and more to heart, he not unfrequently carried his
uncle’s letter about with him, vaguely hoping that some clue might turn
up which would eventually solve the mystery. This was his object in
bringing it on the present occasion; and now he sits eagerly comparing
the translated document with the letter which he had kept for so many
years. The contents of the latter ran as follows:
DEAR SIR—
My son Harry informs me that your
wager on my horse is taken. I have had
much bad health lately, and have been forced
to keep my bed. I have not seen your nag
run in consequence, but hope to have the
pleasure soon. Squire Norris left us yesterday;
he only offered one hundred against Martin’s
thousand; but Martin was too deep for that,
and in the end the bet fell through. My wine
is in a bad state just now, for the cellar is all
under water. I regret purchasing this house,
instead of the Hall, though I dare say the
latter is not half so good. I do not think we
shall return to the Grange, but shall know
before long; if so, I trust you will come and
stay there. Hunters are hard to get; it seems
is if they were all going out of the county.
The Meet saw nothing of me for some time
after that accident I had, and Warton was
greatly in want of help. My arm is better
now; but I shall not be able to use it for
some time. Remember to deliver our good
wishes to the parson; may he never
have cause to regret his choice.—Your sincere
C. V. MORTON.
This very ordinary specimen of letter-writing was headed by a monogram
similar to that which Ainslie had noticed on the scrap of paper,
coupled with the words NUMBER ONE. Many speculations had been made
as to what these hieroglyphics might refer to, but up to the present
moment their meaning has remained unsolved. Will they be solved now?
Can there be any connection between the letter Derrick had failed to
deliver and this incomprehensible document marked NUMBER TWO? What does
the interpretation of the latter say?
Read the
Second word of the first line.
Third word of the second line.
Fifth, sixth, &c. words of the third line.
Instinctively following these directions, Reginald applied them to his
unfortunate uncle’s letter, and produced therefrom, to his surprise and
delight, the sentence—‘Sir Harry is taken.’
The meaning of this was obvious. Reginald’s father, Sir Henry Ainslie,
was known in his lifetime among a circle of Jacobite acquaintances as
plain ‘Sir Harry,’ and the writer had evidently been alluding to his
apprehension in 1745.
Reginald pursued the method with as much deliberation as the excited
state of his feelings at the moment would admit of; and by means of
underlining such words as the key mentions, soon extracted the pith
from Sir Carnaby’s letter:
_Sir Harry is taken. I have been forced to run, but have left
one hundred thousand deep in the cellar under Waterhouse Hall.
I dare not return, but shall trust you to get it out. Meet me
after that, and help to use it for our good cause._
He had found the Missing Clue at last! Sir Carnaby’s scheme was as
clear as open daylight. The spell of this intricate labyrinth, which
the plotting baronet had formed to protect his secret message, had been
dissolved as if by the wave of an enchanter’s wand.
Roused to action by his discovery, and burning to know the truth of
it without delay, Ainslie at once descended to the room below, and
communicated to Hobb Dipping his intention of starting early the next
morning.
The whole story was plain to the young soldier. Sir Carnaby Vincent,
whose adherent loyalty to the House of Stuart greatly resembled that
of many of his Cavalier forefathers, had determined, like a true
subject, to expend his wealth in prospering the beloved cause. For
this purpose, the young baronet had combined the money he had raised
with that of Sir Henry Ainslie, and secreted the whole amount in a
small country-house known as ‘Waterhouse Hall,’ there to remain until
a favourable opportunity should present itself for using it according
to their wishes. The explosion of the Jacobite plot, however, occurred
before any measures could be taken for the removal of the money, and
Sir Carnaby in his flight was obliged to have recourse to Captain
Hollis, an intimate friend, and an ardent participator in his schemes
against the government. It was customary among these as among other
plotters in state affairs, to communicate with each other in what is
termed cipher; and here at last Reginald was in possession of the key
to the letter he had carried about for so many years. Most fortunately,
as it happened, Waterhouse Hall—the only piece of property which Sir
Carnaby had not parted with or mortgaged, but which he had reserved
mainly for the purpose mentioned—escaped any official sequestration
after the baronet’s death, so that his sister Lady Ainslie, to whom it
reverted, was able to take possession of this solitary remnant of the
family estates, which eventually became her home.
Next morning, Reginald left the _Saxonford Arms_, starting at dawn, and
checking not his horse’s stride until he beheld before him the towers
and pinnacles of Fridswold Minster.
* * * * *
As the dissected parts of a puzzle are put together piece by piece,
so has this mystery been worked out until one part only remains to be
added before we bid adieu to the reader.
Sir Carnaby’s ‘hundred thousand’ had not left the cellar in which it
had been deposited fifteen long years before; but so deep down was it,
that considerable perseverance had to be expended in bringing this
precious sum to light. He was now able to fulfil the conditions which
had hitherto prevented him from claiming Amy Thorpe as his own; and the
stern old colonel, before many years had passed, was content to find
his happiness in that of his daughter and her husband, and among the
sturdy little grandchildren that clustered on his knees and clung about
his neck. Lieutenant Ainslie left the army and took to politics; and
ere long it was rumoured in the county that his loyalty and services to
his party were to be rewarded by the removal of the old attainder, and
the restoration of his family title. He was shortly thereafter spoken
of as Sir Reginald, and no one grudged him the restoration of the
ancient and honourable title of his family.
OCCASIONAL NOTES.
A NOVEL PEAL OF BELLS.
In many parts of England, bell-ringing has of late years made great
strides as an art, and has been taken up, studied, and practised by a
class of persons who, from their intelligence, education, and position,
are altogether very different from the ‘bell-ringers’ of the olden
day. We now constantly hear of the ‘Society of Diocesan Bell-ringers
for the Diocese of So-and-so;’ and on inquiry, we shall find that
the members of these Societies are mostly professional men, men in
business, respectable tradesmen, and suchlike, and very often clergymen
as well. A remarkable instance occurred recently where the ringers were
clergymen. This interesting exhibition took place on Thursday the 2d
of October, at the village of Drayton, near Abingdon, Berkshire, where
there happens to be a peal of eight fine bells in the parish church,
of which the Rev. F. E. Robinson is vicar, and to whose energy and
spirit this experiment is due. The clerical ringers were all members
of the ‘Ancient Society of College Youths of London,’ and the ‘Oxford
University Society of Change-ringers,’ both Societies being celebrated
for their skill in this art. The peal rung is technically described as
‘Thurstan’s peal of 5,040 Stedman Triples true and complete;’ and this
took nearly three hours to accomplish, and was conducted by the vicar,
who himself rang bell number seven.
A STEAM-FERRY ON THE THAMES.
The inhabitants of Woolwich and neighbourhood, with praiseworthy
energy, have determined to take the question of a bridge or ferry
across the Thames into their own hands and decide the matter for
themselves, as they were, we presume, pretty well tired out by the
endless talk and procrastination of the government authorities, who
have spoken for years of a swing-bridge below the Pool, without
anything ever coming of it. A steam-ferry is now proposed, by which
vans and carts of any weight can be transported without delay or
difficulty from one side of the river to the other, at a small cost.
Where the traffic will be greatest there will be one tidal, and two
travelling platforms, to be constructed on an improved principle; and
the stagings will be so arranged as to avoid any inclines for horses
and heavy loads. The tidal platform will be managed by machinery as
the tide rises and falls so as to bring its deck to a level with the
deck of the ferry-boat, and is to be worked automatically by means
of electricity. The ferry-boats will be fitted with double engines
and twin screws, and lighted with the electric light, and they will
run every twenty minutes throughout the day. Return tickets and
workmen’s tickets will be granted, and every facility provided for the
convenience of passengers. As the banks of the Thames near to both
North and South Woolwich are the centres of an enormous industry,
it is morally certain that the scheme of steam-ferries, where there
is no bridge for many miles, will pay well; and as the capital
required to start with is estimated at only fifteen thousand pounds,
it will doubtless be soon forthcoming, and the scheme speedily be
an established fact. This resolute energy, on the part of private
individuals, forms a striking contrast to the time-losing and
money-spending schemes of the Metropolitan Board of Works, who proposed
to lay out the modest sum of seven hundred and fifty thousand pounds on
one single swing-bridge!
UTILISATION OF SEWAGE.
To many large and growing towns, the disposal of the sewage is
becoming a serious matter, and while several large towns are just
now contemplating the expenditure of very large sums for the purpose
of getting rid of it, a Company has been formed, and works have been
erected at Shrewsbury with a view to utilising this valuable waste
material. The process by which this Company profess to be able, without
creating a nuisance, (1) to purify the sewage so that the effluent
water is sufficiently pure to be admitted into any river, within
the requirements of the Rivers’ Pollutions Prevention Act, and (2)
to produce ‘native guano,’ is very simple. As the sewage enters the
works, clay, charcoal, and blood are added as deodorisers; and after
thorough mixing, a solution of sulphate of alumina is added, by which
the dissolved and suspended impurities are quickly precipitated in one
or other of the settling tanks, from the fourth of which the water
runs without further treatment into the river. Dr Wallace reports
that the sewage as it enters the works contains 37.5 per cent. of
suspended organic and inorganic matter, but that in the effluent water
there were only the merest traces of either. By experiment it has been
found that in this water fish will live for months. The deposit is
then removed from the tank, and, by means of pressure and artificial
heat, is deprived of its moisture, till it obtains the consistency and
appearance of dry earth. It is then ready for market, and is in such
demand, that as yet the Company are unable to overtake all orders,
though seventy shillings per ton is charged.
ELECTRICITY AS A BRAKE.
A new electric brake, recently invented by an American, named Walcker,
and which is already in use in America, was lately tried on a tramway
between Turin and Piosassio, with remarkable results. It is reported
that by means of this brake two cars, running at a speed of about
twenty-two miles per hour, were stopped in the short space of six
seconds, and within a distance of twenty yards. This, if reliable, is
a great achievement certainly, and will doubtless lead to further and
more extensive experiment, and possibly to its general adoption. The
brake is at present being exhibited in the Turin Exhibition.
MAKING OF MUMMIES.
An extraordinary subject was brought forward at the recent meeting
of the Social Science Congress, namely, the actual making of modern
mummies. A paper was read on this question by Mr Thomas Bayley, of
Birmingham, going fully into the objections raised to cremation, the
most important, as far as legal points are concerned, being, that
cremation does away with all evidence of foul-play, which must be lost
the moment the body is destroyed. In the face of this grave difficulty,
the paper proposes a plan by which the dead may be easily preserved for
an indefinite time after death, so as to be at any moment recognisable
and in a fit state for analysis, examination, or otherwise as may be
necessary—the body, in fact, becoming a perfect mummy. This curious
position is arrived at by enveloping the body in cotton-wool; it is
then placed in an air-tight case, and exposed, in a subterranean
gallery lined with cement, to the action of cold air, which is dried
and purified from putrefactive bacteria. After this, air at a higher
temperature is used in the same way; and the result of the process is
the manufacture of a complete mummy, with the integument remaining
white, and the body entire. And herein this new process differs from
that adopted by the ancient Egyptians, who were specially careful to
remove the interior portions of both the trunk and the head, their
place being supplied with peppers, spices, and other aromatic herbs. It
is a somewhat delicate question to ask whether this curious suggestion
will ever become popular with Englishmen, or Europeans in general;
but there can be no doubt, in questions where suspicion of murder
has arisen and yet cannot be proved, that the preservation of the
body of the deceased in such an ingenious manner would be eminently
satisfactory to the relatives of the supposed victim, because the body
is always at hand, intact and ready for careful examination at any
moment, on the discovery of fresh evidence, or otherwise.
TURNING WOOD INTO METAL.
Our readers may not be aware of a process whereby wood can be almost
turned into metal; that is to say the surface becomes so hard and
smooth that it is susceptible of a high polish, and may be treated with
a burnisher of either glass or porcelain. The appearance of the wood is
then in every respect that of polished metal, and has the semblance of
a metallic mirror, only with this peculiar and important difference,
that, unlike metal, it is unaffected by moisture. The process by which
this curious fact is arrived at may be briefly described. The wood is
steeped in a bath of caustic alkali for two or three days, according
to its degree of permeability, at a temperature of between one hundred
and sixty-four and one hundred and ninety-seven degrees of Fahrenheit.
It is then placed in a second bath of hydrosulphate of calcium, to
which a concentrated solution of sulphur is added after twenty-four
or thirty-six hours. The third bath is one of acetate of lead at a
temperature of from ninety-five to one hundred and twenty-two degrees
of Fahrenheit, and in this the wood remains from thirty to fifty hours.
After a complete drying, it is then ready for polishing with lead, tin,
or zinc, finishing the process with a burnisher, as already mentioned,
when the wood, apparently, becomes a piece of shining polished metal.
This curious process we are told is the invention of a German named
Rubennick.
RELICS FROM THE HOLY LAND.
An admirable proposal has just been made for the foundation of a
Museum of Antiquities and Curiosities from the Holy Land, and of all
museums such a one as this would surely prove of the deepest interest.
Already there appears to be a room in the Louvre at Paris devoted to
this purpose, and containing about a couple of hundred objects. The
British Museum possesses various articles, such as lamps, vases, &c.;
but a very much larger collection is known to belong to the Palestine
Exploration Fund, and is partly in the keeping of that association both
in London and Jerusalem, and partly at the South Kensington Museum; the
whole collection probably may number about a thousand objects of all
kinds. Coins would of course form an important part of the collection.
Many very ancient and curious Jewish coins are still in existence; but
perhaps the three of the greatest antiquity and consequent interest—two
copper and one silver—bear the names of ‘Eliashib the Priest,’ four
hundred and thirty-five years B.C., and ‘Eleazar the Priest,’ two
hundred and eighty-one years B.C. To the coins might be added relics
of the crusaders, and memorials of the Christian occupation of parts
of Palestine, crests and arms of the Christian warriors, architectural
relics, and fragments of sculpture. The aid of plaster-casts and
photography, too, might be readily called in; and it may be reckoned
that few travellers visiting this sacred soil would fail to bring
back something with which to enrich the museum. Thus a good beginning
might easily be made; and in the end, a large and curious collection
of objects would be brought together, which would materially help to
illustrate and throw light upon the history of Palestine and the study
of the Holy Scriptures.
HOPE ON, HOPE EVER.
Hope on, hope ever. Though dead leaves are lying
In mournful clusters ’neath your wandering feet;
Though wintry winds through naked boughs are sighing
The flowers are dead; yet is the memory sweet
Of summer winds and countless roses glowing
’Neath the warm kisses of the generous sun.
Hope on, hope ever. Why should tears be flowing?
In every season is some victory won.
Hope on, hope ever, though you deck loved tresses
With trembling fingers for the silent grave;
Though cold the cheek beneath your fond caresses,
Look up, true Christian soul; be calm, be brave!
Hope on, hope ever. Though your hearts be breaking,
Let flowers of Resignation wreathe your cross,
Deep in your heart some heavenly wisdom waking,
For mortal life is full of change and loss.
Hope on, hope ever, for long-vanished faces
Watch for your coming on the golden shore,
E’en while you whisper in their vacant places
The blessed words, ‘Not lost, but gone before!’
Hope on, hope ever, let your hearts keep singing,
When low you bend above the churchyard sod,
And fervent prayers your chastened thoughts are winging,
Through sighs and tears, to the bright throne of God!
Hope on, hope ever. Let not toil or sorrow
Still the sweet music of Hope’s heavenly voice.
From every dawn some ray of comfort borrow,
That in the evening you may still rejoice.
Hope on, hope ever—words beyond comparing,
Dear to the hearts that nameless woes have riven;
To all that mourn, sweet consolation hearing.
Oh, may they prove the Christian’s guide to heaven!
* * * * *
The Conductor of CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL begs to direct the attention of
CONTRIBUTORS to the following notice:
_1st._ All communications should be addressed to the ‘Editor, 339
High Street, Edinburgh.’
_2d._ For its return in case of ineligibility, postage-stamps
should accompany every manuscript.
_3d._ MANUSCRIPTS should bear the author’s full _Christian_ name,
Surname, and Address, legibly written; and should be written on
one side of the leaf only.
_4th._ Offerings of Verse should invariably be accompanied by a
stamped and directed envelope.
_If the above rules are complied with, the Editor will do his best to
insure the safe return of ineligible papers._
* * * * *
Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON,
and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH.
* * * * *
_All Rights Reserved._
* * * * *
[Transcriber’s note—the following change have been made to this text.
Page 757: Voilâ to Voilà—“Voilà le monsieur”.
Page 761: Collége to Collège—“Collège de France”.]